ThoughtSong Intersections

Brown, brown, brown, brown – all the colors of the universe engendered at the dare of dawn. In hand, a spectral palette on which the love of many shall wax cold oblivious to green futility. Seizer of green – no sense of synch, a wonderment cresting flat. Synchronize and see it is of no small task to stay in rhythm …cresting flat? The ordinary has a wonder. Master that green ought come soft and easy. The synch is out of order. A muddled meter reigns informing musing mayhem that enchants.
I’ll dance.
For a spell. Always for a spell.
 
The ordinary has a wonder. I am god presumably unacquainted with the insignificant. Only me.
Omniscient me, ruling out of rhythm.
 
Bloated brilliance devoid of luster hypes a minus-book pinched from the annals of essence.
Author not known
fully.
 
Monochromatic proficiency feigned, I prance to brown and die.
Author not know
fully.